Courtship
by ricashaye
Summary: Isabella Swan's future is set when she boards the RMS Oceanic. Her encounter with one Edward Masen changed everything. AU. All human. Set aboard a luxury liner in 1899. R&R!
1. Prologue

Prologue

Wind kneads the ocean like an angry sculptor, crashing its clay into the boughs of the RMS Oceanic. The luxury liner shook against the force of fathomless waters, and it was felt throughout the passengers, save for the elite first class. They continued to sleep dreamlessly, for their sort had long ago forgotten the sweetness of a reverie. Consistent lurching softened into gentle undulation to their carefully placed cabins, and it was undoubted that the rich inhabitants would be the only ones well-rested. Only one daughter of the upper crust remained awake, and it was the starboard end where she made her appearance.

The charged air coursed through her thin dressing gown, leaving her flushed from the cold. Her unblemished hands, white-knuckled by her unyielding grasp on the railing, felt the gentle spray of the sea with each violent crest that disintegrated against the side of the ship. Dark curls, which had been carefully created with an iron earlier, raked against her cheeks until they were nearly tugged to their original consistency. The vessel heaved once again, and for a moment the darkness spread out endlessly before her. Her breath, held as she hesitated before making a decision on her own existence, burned her lungs. The prospect of her own mortality frightened her, and the girl floundered against the siding to keep her balance. Whispering a prayer and closing her eyes tightly, she held on until the ship had righted itself once again. The dip hadn't been as dramatic for those inside the safety of iron walls, but for the Manhattan princess, it had awakened her to something she hadn't expected.

She released her grasp and slumped down until she was seated on the deck, her skin dewy from sweat and salt water. For a moment, death had been an option, a better resort than the constant numbness she lived her life in. Perhaps it was the shock of understanding the depths of her own misery that caused her to weep. She had everything a girl of her stature could ask for. Something was just...missing.

Her life was destined to follow down the path of her ancestors. She would become a wife, a mother, and remain surrounded by all the luxuries a woman could want. It just wasn't enough. She longed for something more, though she knew not what it was.

Isabella Swan wanted to know what it felt to be really, truly alive.


	2. Beginnings

**Chapter 1**

Beginnings

* * *

_March 12th, 1899_

"Did you _see_ her dress, Bella, dear? I haven't seen anything so cheap since that Mallory girl attempted to squeeze her way into the Astoria's tearoom."

Isabella Swan managed a tight-lipped smile as the ladies around her giggled behind gloved hands at her mother's joke. The target of their malice was one Mary Alice Brandon, a flighty girl with quite a reputation for occasionally flagitious behavior. The woman wore her hair in an outdated pompadour with spiky wisps around her temples. Polite Manhattan society wasn't quite sure where she took her interesting fashion choices from, and of course Mary Alice attributed everything to modern Paris patterns. No one believed her. The choice of poppy fabric was far too bold for morning, and the immodest cut rose more than a few eyebrows.

Alice was nouveau-riche and made no attempts to integrate into the right circles. The Brandons had long ago attempted to crash several events they had never been invited to. However, due to several donations of incredible sums of money, no one had the heart to turn them away any longer. Still, it didn't save them from the brunt of the older families' scorn. Alice was by far one of the roughest ladies in society, and many attributed this to her breeding.

Bella watched the lively woman over the edge of her porcelain teacup as she took a sip of Davenport. She had no inkling of what it was like to live that way, with no regrets and no ties to keep her securely held in place. Everything had been very plainly laid out for her since birth, and after the death of her father, the importance that she remain a demure and innocent young woman had grown twofold. Her mother reminded her every day.

Charles Swan's passing had left the two women bereaved as well as financially unsound. An altruistic man at heart, he had squandered what was left of his fortune on charitable causes, most of which had later turned fraudulent. Any one who asked would receive more than what they required, and the Swans had always been far too polite to demand payments returned. A terrible duo of generosity and social submission had killed what was left of their funds. The bills were adding up, and there was little time to act. Either they made a move, or their family legacy besmirched itself.

The path ahead was clear to Renee Justine Swan, who continued to ridicule lesser women to the table of finely bred ladies. She was still in mourning, of course, though it didn't keep her from enjoying a biscuit with her friends. Thankfully black flattered her skin rather than wash it out completely. She wasn't a vain woman, but looking pretty was still a necessity for someone in her position.

The loss of her husband had been devastating. She was still guilt-ridden, despite having laid him in the ground a few months prior. Her daughter had been mostly unaware of the lack of love in their marriage, or at least she hoped so. The facts were simple—she and Charles had grown apart, and what had initially attracted one another eventually drove a wedge into their relationship. Her mother had warned that opposites attracted only fleetingly, but she hadn't listened. Renee was in love, and she was too stubborn to listen to anything other than her own heart. Eventually her passing fancies began to annoy him rather than intrigue, and his unyielding goodness began to patronize. Even though their relationship had become abrasive, she still remained heartbroken. Nostalgia was something that the women in her family clung to. The only thing that had kept her afloat through the proceedings of mourning was the prospect of being thrown on the streets. Renee refused to die a poor widow.

The one card she had to play was her daughter, Isabella Swan. The family name held enough pull in the market of marriage, and perhaps if Bella could wed within a suitable time period, all of their troubles could be remedied. It wasn't out of the realm of possibility, of course. Since Bella's debut, several eligible young men had courted her and flirted with the idea of marriage. None had pursued so fervently as Jacob Black, who had been childhood friends with the girl since they had shared the same tutor for a year. Rakish and handsome, he had always been a favorite with the young women. However, it was common knowledge that as soon as Isabella offered her hand, he'd be all too happy to commit to monogamy. Renee had possibly hinted once or twice to the man that she would be accepting soon. Possibly even while onboard the RMS Oceanic.

Currently he, as well as several other gentlemen, were dining nearby and discussing their triumphs in areas varying from yachting to equinity. Jacob's skin was flushed and brown from a crew excursion not long before the ship left port, though it somehow suited him to lose some of the usual gentility. With a friendly smile in her direction, Renee reminisced on how she would have attempted to claim him back in _her_ day.

Jacob had fallen in love when he was seven years old, and the object of his affection had always been Isabella Marie Swan. Before she had become a proper young lady, Bella was just another one of the rich young girls taught by the wife of his tutor. They had met on the way out of the little townhouse after lessons one sunny afternoon in May. Bella had stumbled over her own two feet before tumbling down the front steps, and as he reached down to help her, she rewarded him with one of the most effusively grateful smile he had ever seen. The warmth emanating from her was infectious, and he felt it straight down to his toes. That day marked the moment he had begun his trek into manhood. She had changed since they were children, of course, but it hadn't made any difference when it came to how he felt about her.

Now she was a refined woman instead of the guileless, clumsy girl she had been in her youth. They shared a secret smile across the tearoom, and he could see the glimmer of mischief return to her eyes. She could be playful when she wanted to be, though he knew how strict their lives were, especially hers after the death of her father. The two shared one common sentiment—polite society bored them silly. It was only when they were alone that they could be themselves, in those passing moments they could steal without her chaperone.

The first time he had asked her to marry him, she had blushed like the silly school girl she used to be before turning him down with the cookie-cutter lines she had been taught by her finishing tutor. Even though he hadn't been surprised, the rejection still stung. It was only after a long night of alcohol, fine cigars and an all too pleasing social climber that he had realized that giving up would be the biggest mistake of his life. A month later he had tried again, of course to no avail. The third proposal was only two months ago. She kept saying no, and he kept asking her over and over again. The ritual had become trying, but Isabella kept playing. That was all the reassurance he needed.

He wasn't sure if she loved him. Sometimes he stayed awake late into the night, her letters crumpled in his fists out of sheer frustration. He couldn't read her, and she was so often evasive that often lived in a state of perpetual confusion. If she loved him, she would have accepted one of his proposals already. Surely, she would have. Still…the way she smiled before taking her tea…

How could he not try to win the woman it belonged to?

Mary Alice Brandon caught the wink that Jacob Black had aimed in Isabella's direction. Her eyes shifted to the girl who was still smiling behind her teacup. Rumor had it that those two were going to be married within the year, and the society papers were all abuzz about a certain bronzed man picking up an incredibly large stone at Tiffany & Co. Even though she, herself, wasn't exactly considered one of the girls, she still ran in the right circles and kept up with the gossip columns. She just preferred not to take her tea with a bunch of uptight biddies.

The Brandons had insisted she board the Oceanic, not only to integrate herself into high society, but also to spend some time abroad and hopefully make a lady out of herself. Despite popular belief, her family wasn't entirely haphazard in their approach to gain favor. They were very meticulous in what they did, and having a daughter that cared so little on making a good impression was unacceptable. Personally, Alice didn't believe for a minute that the English could make her prim and proper. If she had been born a man and perhaps poorer than dirt, the world would have been far more interesting.

Slipping out of the tearoom to light a cigarette, she had been busy placing the roll into her elongated holder when a new, unfamiliar couple caught her eye. Alice couldn't help but indulge in passing curiosity, and a bit of juicy gossip was always fair trade at dinner. The flame of brilliant copper hair caught her eye, extravagant curls held up with a mother of pearl comb. Alice didn't need to see the surly pout on the woman's face to know it was Victoria Webb. The woman wasn't who interested her, though. The man escorting the lady was far more intriguing.

She hadn't seen his face before, but there was a ruggedness about him that seemed strangely familiar. His blonde hair was slicked back, revealing an angular jaw that was wrought with tension. Alice took a draw of her cigarette before traipsing up to the couple. This was entirely too fun of an opportunity to miss out on.

"Miss Webb! How delightful to see you. You wear green almost as nicely as a sour expression."

Victoria Webb loathed Mary Alice Brandon.

Looking down on the petite woman wasn't much of a task. The girl's eyes shone with amusement, but Victoria didn't feel like laughing. The Brandon girl made a mockery of everything that their world encompassed, and she expected others to join in on the joke. However, those with true refined breeding gave up acting like children as soon as possible, so Alice always came up playing the fool.

The only thing that kept her from falling into unbecoming behavior was the charming man who had been leading her to the promenade. Jasper Whitlock had been courting her for several weeks, and his quiet, practical manner was exactly what she had been looking for in a potential husband. He chose to spend his free time reading biographies and philosophical texts rather than enjoying raunchier pastimes with the likes of Jacob Black. He was rich and had attended West Point, plus he came from a respectable southern family. He wasn't just another handsome man out to claim a woman and whisk her away to a lonesome plantation—he had plans on pursuing business ventures on Fifth Avenue.

Laurent Webb had approved of the match when she began going on carriage rides with Jasper. Of course, it was far too early to expect a proposal, but Victoria was hoping for one in the upcoming months. Whitlock was such a charming name, anyway, and it went well with her own.

But back to Alice. Victoria plucked at her own sage green morning gown and the ivory lace that decorated her sleeve. Of course she looked splendid in the color, but that wasn't the point. Alice had made a mockery of her in front of the man she was interested in, and that was intolerable. She wasn't as clever as the other woman, perhaps, but she wouldn't just let something that reprehensible slide, either.

"Miss Brandon! I didn't know smoking had become fashionable. Silly me, I didn't know _new_ money had their fingers in that pie, too. Mr. Whitlock, shall we?"

She tugged on her escorts arm and flounced on towards their chosen destination. Alice would get what she deserved sooner or later. It wasn't Christian to think so, but she really hoped that the Brandon girl fell hard from her pedestal and brought her trashy family along with her.

Jasper Whitlock didn't enjoy silly confrontations between women. In his, albeit limited, experience, ladies often went out of their way to make others feel uncomfortable. He didn't believe for one moment the airs they put on to make themselves seem more attractive to men. They were just as ruthless as his own gender, however their battlefield was much more precarious. Women were savage when they needed to be. It scared the hell out of him.

He was unamused by the spunk of the smaller woman, though it didn't take much deduction to realize she was the Mary Alice Brandon that so many spoke ill of. He could now see why. She was silly, ill-mannered, and purposefully presented herself in an unattractive way. He wasn't sure what game she was playing at, but he didn't trust her. Women that complicated presented a mystery that he wasn't willing solving. He could always read fiction if he was that interested in suspense.

Jasper opened his mouth to comment on her aggressive tactics at forcing conversation, but was tugged away by Victoria before he could form a sentence. This was absolutely fine with him. Miss Webb was simple in her desires, and he could appreciate that. He had spent far too long among the ranks of ambitious men to deal with much else in his personal life. Victoria was someone he could see himself settling down with to make a happy home. She had her temper, as every woman did, but she was intelligent enough not to direct any of it towards him. For that, he was grateful.

With a glance back, he saw the Brandon girl releasing a string of smoke from her candied lips. She was pretty, in an uncontainable way. One heavily made up eyelid closed in a playful wink, and he found himself blanching in shock. Was she actually flirting with the man escorting the woman she had just offended? This woman was shameless.

He tried to tuck the conundrum that she presented away when Victoria continued her pleasant chatter, but it was more difficult than he had expected.

As she examined her rouged lips with the pocket mirror she kept on her person, Rosalie Hale noticed the interaction between Miss Brandon and an attractive couple attempting to escape for a quite discussion on the deck. Of course, from her position at the railing, she could hardly hear what was being said. However, the salacious grin coming off of Mary Alice spoke volumes. Rolling her eyes, Rosalie tucked away her mirror and continued to wait impatiently for her fiancé.

Edward had been ill the evening before, and she hadn't been able to greet him like a proper wife-to-be should. Of course, she was slightly worried about his well being, but the annoyance of being unable to present herself with her future husband at dinner was an embarrassment she hadn't yet gotten over. The pale blue seersucker she wore now was nothing compared to the gown she had worn the night before—and the cost! All of that money had gone to waste just because he had a bout of seasickness. He could have at least sat with her while _she_ ate.

Rosalie leaned against the barricade and exhaled dramatically. Five months! Five months since she had last seen Edward Masen. He had agreed with her that making their engagement official was the best course of action before he left to finish his schooling at Oxford, and thankfully the time had allowed her to complete mpst of the wedding preparations. All that was left was her own gown, which she planned to get made in Paris while she was overseas.

Rosalie didn't plan on staying mad at him for too long, though. He had surprised her with his telegram the day before, and she had made a spectacle of herself while crooning over it. She had expected to meet him in London once the Oceanic dock, but he had decided to meet her in New York to escort her _back_ to where he was originally! The small gestures of kindness he was prone to was what had made her fall so easily in love with him. With a soft giggle as she bit down on her bottom lip, she cradled her chin within gloved palms and released a happy little sigh.

Soon she would be Rosalie Masen. It made her entirely too giddy.

Edward Masen watched as his fiancée curled up against iron siding that separated her from the vast ocean beyond. She really was an incredible sight in the afternoon sunlight. Blonde curls were pinned into a matching blue hat adorned with pearls, and her smile was almost contagious. Almost.

He wasn't sure why he couldn't fall in love with Rosalie Hale. There was no reason for him to be so adverse to their relationship. The engagement had made him into a coward. He had hoped that choosing to study abroad at Oxford would give them enough distance for her to meet someone else and give up the idea of attempting to tye him down. He had been wrong. She had only grown more persistent, more dedicated. Her letters were sweet and romantic, but they held no charm for him.

She was a simple girl with simple vanities, and Edward was anything but simple.

He hadn't the heart to refuse her pleas to confirm their engagement, and his mother had been insistent as well. Five months had flown by, and instead of greeting Rosalie with open arms the night before, he had faked sickness and spent his night alone and without dinner. All to escape seeing those childishly hopeful eyes and winning smile.

He was a terrible person. A god-forsaken horrible man.

When she turned to face him now, she was an image of perfection. Any man would kill to be in his shoes, marrying the most spectacular woman in Manhattan. She was a match made in heaven, and was perfect for keeping a household and bearing beautiful children.

Ironically enough, Edward found her entirely average.

As she embraced him and pressed a gentle kiss into his cheek, he closed his eyes and prayed that once, just once, before he settled and wed this woman, he could know what it felt like to be free again.

* * *

Please review and let me know what you think! I know I formatted this chapter a bit strangely. I was just experimenting. Tell me if it was a bad idea. :)


	3. Second Helpings

Chapter 2

Second Helpings

* * *

"We can't keep seeing each other like this."

Heedless of the words she spoke, Carlisle Cullen dragged his hands up his lover's corseted form and pressed his lips once again at her temple. She shuddered against his caress, and in a rare show of ardor, forced him back into the iron wall of the empty steerage corridor. He craved these stolen moments they shared, underneath the noses of everyone who mattered, and he told her so after their mouths had met in an impassioned embrace.

"I'm in love with you, Esme Evenson."

With a giddy laugh, she began to smatter sweet, reckless kisses along his jaw. Esme's presence on the RMS Oceanic had tested him since the moment he spotted her at dinner the previous night. She had looked so pristine sitting next to her husband, and although the immediate urge was to ravish her silly, he much preferred to know everything he had missed in her life. That was the kind of love they had. Still, catching up never lasted long when their bodies had been so long without one another.

Even now, after six years of seeing her on the sly, unreasonable stabs of jealousy continued to haunt him. She took it no better than she had. He had received her frantically scribbled note only minutes after he had entered his cabin with Tatyana. He suspected his wife knew of his infidelity, but Carlisle knew not what to do about his current situation. He was in love with a woman married to another man. Attempts to end all contact had long ago become unrealistic.

Both Carlisle and Esme knew that they were destined to love each other while belonging to someone else.

Carlisle had met Esme on the day of her engagement dinner. She was already promised to James Evenson, a quiet man with a decent reputation. Not that it mattered, of course, as he himself had already been married to Tatyana for a year. His Tanya had looked stunning, of course, but nothing had compared to the angelic beauty of the woman he couldn't have. It wasn't just Esme's appearance, which was almost too sweet to stomach. Her sad smile had hooked him, but the eternal optimism she radiated had reeled him in. It was no secret that James needed a wife to secure his inheritance. Esme was married to him at sixteen, hardly any time after she made her debut. She was perhaps the most breathtaking bride he had ever laid eyes on.

It was only a year later that they began their affair. A gala event had brought them together, and society was shocked into silence by her appearance. Rumor had it that she was many months with child and had been bedridden to secure safe passage for labor. She arrived blanched and weak with powder caked over one eye, which did nothing to conceal the bruises underneath. James also attended, but disappeared only half an hour into the ball to entertain himself with liquor. It didn't take much deduction on Carlisle's part to realize what had gone on.

He took Esme home that night after she nearly collapsed on the dance floor. Carlisle still remembered how frigid it had turned that evening, and the covered carriage his horseman had brought had contained foot coals within. She had seemed so broken as she sat next to him, and it had taken little persuasion for her to recount the story of her miscarriage. He had never been one to easily watch another suffer, and his gentle reassurance had surprised both of them when it became something more. In the back of his horse buggy they shared their first kiss, and it was enough to revive both of them for the remainder of the month they spent apart.

Six years. Six years they had tried to remain faithful to their partners. Carlisle dragged a hand through her loosened curls and thanked God that she had taken the same voyage to England. They had planned on meeting a month from now, but now he could see that waiting that long would be far, far too difficult. Her warm mouth trailed kisses down his chest as nimble fingers unbuttoned his shirt. Exhaling slowly, he finally gave way and allowed himself to enjoy the pleasure that the woman he loved inflicted on him. As his eyes closed and blocked out the dim light in the corridor, Carlisle concluded that he really should have felt guiltier.

§

Esme Platt Evenson returned to her cabin, still slightly disheveled from her tryst in steerage. She was all smiles, and the effervescent laugh that bubbled up without warning was part of the reason she was so incredibly in love with Carlisle Cullen. Anyone who could make her feel so lightweight and blissful had her undying affection.

She paused at her vanity to rearrange her hair, which had fallen in the lift after she had hastily pinned it back up. Making love in such a public place had been a foolish idea, but she held no willpower when it came to him. Now that she was back in her own quarters Esme felt a sense of propriety return to her. If they weren't more careful next time, the scandal would be absolutely outrageous.

It wasn't until Esme felt his strong hand close over her shoulder that she realized her husband had been in their washroom. All of the joy she had been sailing on moments before vanished in an instant. Her relationship with James was far too complicated for her to understand, but his presence instilled in her fear that she had never experienced before married life.

Turning with a valiant attempt at a smile, she faced her husband who wore his usual scowl of discountenance. Even though she loved another man, it didn't keep her from trying her very hardest to please the one she had married. Unfortunately for both of them, she always fell just short of what he wanted.

"Hello, dear. Have you taken tea yet?" she asked softly after gently kissing his cheek.

His expression softened for a moment, and it did wonders for his appearance. He wasn't exactly handsome, but on those rare days he enjoyed a good mood, he was nearly more than just middling. At one time, Esme had wanted so badly to love him. What wife didn't want to fall head over heels for their husband?

His temper was frightening, and the first time he had become enraged with her, he had beaten all hope out of Esme.

"No. Would you care to join me on the veranda?"

She took his arm as he offered it and they stepped out onto the little balcony connected to their cabin. Esme only vaguely listened as her husband informed her that their maid was already preparing a pot of Earl Grey. He continued to elaborate on his morning while she listened in silence, and eventually her attention began to wane. The horizon, blue on blue, offered so much possibility. She couldn't help but think that maybe, one day, fate would present her with an opportunity to remedy the sham her life had become.

§

Emmett McCarty adored women. Their shape, their tinkling laughs, the way they all smelled of rose and lavender. They thrilled and intoxicated him. He had known at a young age that he was meant to love them all, and that's why he had naturally attracted flocks of ladies. Of course, someone like him didn't naturally fit into high society, but he fit all the requirements of someone stuffy old families were now stooping to associate with. He had recently acquired a fortune in the West, and like it or not, most Manhattan royalty had to marry into money to stay afloat. It also helped that all of their women, young and old, adored his flirtatious charm.

He had never been to England before, but business prospects had drawn him onto his first venture on a luxury liner. If anyone he wanted to impress asked what he would be doing in Europe, he planned on replying that he had interest in making himself a real entrepreneur. Young women in search for a good time, which defined most of the bored girls on Fifth Avenue, would hear a different story. Every year London held a high stakes poker championship, and Emmett wanted in on the action. He wasn't as skilled as many of the men who attended such events, but he always had enjoyed a good gamble. That was how he had made his millions in the first place, anyway.

In California he had become the lover of a bored Englishwoman, and in exchange for certain favors, she had graced him with a modest stipend. When she returned to Manchester, Emmett lingered in the West, scattering his money here and there. Most of the time his prospects led to nothing, but a few good investments greatly increased his funds. It wasn't until the start of the Spanish-American war that Emmett made his fortune. Buying supplies low and selling them as luxuries to the soldiers had seemed like a passing fancy at the time, but it was far more profitable than anyone had foreseen. In one year he had tripled what he started with.

Of course, he made his means through a less than honorable outlet, and though most of the men he now associated with despised his flexible morals, no one went so far as to turn him away. He was richer than most of them now. They couldn't afford to not make nice.

Lighting one of his imported cigars at the edge of the poop deck, Emmett reflected that this expedition would be the start of many firsts. Already he was experiencing the joys of first class privileges on an ocean liner capable of circumnavigating the globe, both new to him. He was hoping there would be plenty more to experience, perhaps during the voyage as well as once they landed.

Thankfully for Emmett, he saw a familiar face that would definitely make things more entertaining.

Dressed from head to toe in mauve, Katrina McKinley sashayed down the poop deck without an escort. Emmett's grin spread easily. Of all the women he had slept with, she was by far the most comely. She matched his smile as she neared and twirled her lace parasol flirtatiously.

"Why Mr. McCarty, what brings you on the Oceanic?" she asked with an overly priggish bearing. He rewarded her with a rambunctious laugh.

Emmett took another drag on his cigar before replying. "I'm planning on losing my well-earned cash on cards, Kate. If you have no significant plans in London, I suggest you join me."

He wasn't one for playing games unnecessarily. Thankfully, Kate had a habit of being just as frank as he. Leaning in with just a hint of a smirk, her husky voice spoke in tones only he could hear.

"Escort me to dinner tonight, Emmett. I promise you won't regret it."

Then she was off once again, brushing past him suggestively as she continued her stroll down the deck. Emmett drew long and hard from his cigar. The day was definitely going to drag by now, but he suspected that the pretty little gift he'd be unwrapping tonight would be entirely worth the pain of waiting.

§

Kate McKinley's mother had told her long ago to marry for love. But how was she supposed to know who to choose unless she loved many men and often?

She was still smiling to herself as she made her way down the halls of the first class cabins. Kate didn't want to marry, but for Emmett McCarty she might make an exception. He was phenomenal in bed and rather entertaining outside of private quarters. The McKinley's had a long line of ancestry to protect, so of course she was going to have to settle down someday. Why not with someone just as thoroughly exciting as she was?

As she slipped into her room, Kate immediately began to unpin the large, plumed hat from her tightly coiled hair. She briefly knocked on the partition that separated her lodgings from her brother's. Now that she had seen she wasn't completely alone in her mischief aboard the Oceanic, her mood was much improved. She would definitely be bedded tonight, and by someone who was talented _and_ could keep a secret.

Eleazar McKinley poked his head past the sliding door inquisitively. Most likely he had been in his room reading instead of enjoying the pleasant weather and lovely view. She wasn't surprised by that in the least. He could be incredibly dull. In fact, he usually was.

"Ellie, we will be dining with Mr. McCarty tonight. If you see Tanya before I do, let her know."

With a quiet nod, Eleazar retreated back into his cabin. Kate rolled her eyes. She wasn't quite sure why she had even bothered. Tatyana Cullen was most likely taking tea with her friends, and their brother couldn't care about anything outside of his historical texts. Sometimes she wondered how she was related to either of them. At least Tanya was sociable.

With an audible groan, Kate swept back out of her suite as quickly as she had arrived. Nothing could keep her in one place too long.

§

Tatyana Cullen laughed brightly, along with the ladies who were also taking tea with her. Mrs. Swan could be downright cruel in her perceptions of those outside of their circle, but her deductions were always humorous.

"Miss Stanley has her sights on Michael Newton, did you know? Rumor has it that her mother has been adding to her dowry to sweeten the deal. I sincerely doubt the Newtons will consider Jessica. Everyone knows Michael is smitten with my Isabella," Renee disclosed after a bite of cucumber salad. The other ladies murmured their approval.

Tanya watched as little Bella Swan flushed with embarrassment and hid her grimace behind her teacup. She couldn't blame the girl. Renee had the habit of thinking everyone wanted her and her daughter. The Swans had always been full of themselves, and it was no surprise that her mother was continuing the tradition.

"Well, I do hope he can get over the heartbreak. I'm not one to gossip, but I think there may be an important announcement made tonight. Isabella, you should begin picking bridesmaid colors."

Bella blanched, and after receiving several congratulatory praises from her friends, excused herself and made an immediate departure from the tea room. Tanya noticed the disturbed expression on Jacob Black's face, though he didn't move to stop her. It was probably for the best. Men didn't always seem to understand a woman's reticence to be married. Her own father hadn't.

Tanya had no room to complain. Her husband was a good man and had given her everything she had asked for. Carlisle, however, had no experience on delivering the things she couldn't speak of, such as genuine love and fidelity. She was no fool. His relationship with Esme Evenson had initially caused her heartbreak, but she wasn't one to dwell on things that wouldn't change.

Besides, she had taken a lover of her own. She wasn't sure if she could call it love, but it was perhaps the most genuine attachment she had ever felt with a man before. It was just a shame that he was to be wed soon. Edward Masen would take a wife, and their intermittent sessions of passion would come to an end. All good things did, anyway.

Tanya had given up long ago on feeling anything beyond endearment. Nothing lasted forever.

§

Isabella Swan was suffocating.

What had her mother done? Did she have something planned? Did Jacob…

No. No. It was just too soon. She loved Jacob…of course she loved him. How could she not? They had known each other forever. He was her first friend, and she _did_ plan on marrying him, someday…

Just not now.

Her fingers tugged at the lace at her neck, popping ivory buttons away until she could breathe again. It was only after she caught her breath that she realized she had been running. No wonder she couldn't breathe. Corsets didn't allow for athletic endeavors in those who worse them. Her mother would be so disappointed. How dare she create a scandal so close to the announcement of her own engagement?

Perhaps she should have jumped.

Collapsing on one of the chaises on the deck, she ignored the perturbed stares of the few bystanders who had witnessed her disgraceful display. Her anxiety gave way to something else, a hollowness that ached to be filled. It was times like this where she hated herself. Why couldn't she be content with marrying Jacob Black?

He was handsome, rich, well-bred. He revered her. She loved him. Yes, of course she loved him. He just didn't make her heart race. Bella blamed it all on reading Bronte novels. Jacob was not her Heathcliffe, and she so desperately wanted to know what it felt like before she was condemned to matrimonial prison.

In an attempt to take her mind off of what was to come, she removed the focus from herself and shifted it elsewhere. Several couples were taking their daily stroll, though none were as interesting as the familiar willowy blonde caught her eye. Rosalie Hale was, after all, by far the most gorgeous woman to grace Manhattan's society pages. Making her usual afternoon stroll, she hung on the arm of an incredibly handsome man Bella had never seen before. It didn't take her too long to pin a name to the foreign face. If the rumors she heard were true, then the man escorting her was Edward Masen, freshly graduated from Oxford University.

She seemed so happy in his presence. The two weren't exactly close, but Bella knew Rosalie well enough to see the light in her eyes. The man wasn't smiling, but the attentiveness he expressed to his fiancée was still endearing. He must have been very much in love with her, to travel so far only to escort her to London. Bella was envious.

She wanted to be in love, too. It would make everything much more bearable.

The man locked eyes with her for a moment, scanning her face before dropping down to the torn lace at her collar. Isabella felt color creep into her face. Pressing a hand to her throat, she quickly rose from her perch and continued back to where she had originated from. If a complete stranger had noticed her rumpled appearance, she didn't want to know what her mother would say.

She felt his eyes follow her as she made her way back into the stairwell leading to first class cabins. That was dreadful enough. Bella didn't need any extra attention, especially if she was going to be engaged by the end of the night.

§

Edward wasn't one to be taken in by a pretty face, but the girl he had seen on the deck that afternoon had nearly stolen his breath away. He wasn't sure what it was about her that made her seem so…vulnerable. Perhaps it was the eyes. They held within them the desperation he so often felt himself, the impetuousness of a caged bird.

Solace was so hard to find for him now, and he was consistently participating in pastimes he normally wouldn't condone. Fear had driven him mad, and the notion that someone else could understand…

Dinner. He'd find her at dinner. He needed to know something, anything.

Perhaps just a name. A name could make all the difference in the world.

* * *

Hey everyone. Thanks for all the reviews so far! I really appreciate everything. I'm sorry if this chapter is a disappointment. I didn't feel like it was as good as the last one. I just didn't want to leave people hanging. I'm going to Switzerland tomorrow and I'm not sure if I'll have internet. If I do, I'll upload another chapter. If I don't, well expect alot of updates when I get back. I'll write even if I can't post them! Please R&R! Thanks! 


	4. Sweet Nothings

Chapter 3

Sweet Nothings

* * *

The last threads of sunlight streamed through the dining room windows of the RMS Oceanic. The wait staff scurried around as they made the final touches on that night's decorations, silver tinsel and champagne fountains decorating tables framing the dance floor. Each night was the same—an entertaining theme for the passengers, fine glassware that never ran out of expensive wine, and the most incredible meals that White Line chefs could offer. The Oceanic was the first of its kind—a hedonistic escape for the upper class that ended only when they met their destination.

The help were meant to be seen and not heard. Most of the hired workers on the Oceanic were immigrants, and an overwhelming amount claimed Irish heritage. They had come to make lives for themselves in America. Compared to the alternatives—working in factories or as live-in servants to the rich—preparing entertainment on a luxury vessel was a vacation. They kept their anonymity, and saw more of the world than many others of their caste. The price was silence. Gossip ran rampant in confined areas, and festivities loosened tongues with alcohol. There was always a scandal to see as part of the staff, but it took much more than empty threats to coerce them to speak.

It took money, enough to allow one to integrate into a class above their own—a different rank, a way to escape the labor that defined their existence. Few could pay this price, and only one aboard was willing.

One man watched and waited. Tonight could be the night to make his fortune.

§

James Evenson was the first patron to enter that evening. He entered, a rare spark in eye, with a woman at his arm. She was most definitely _not _his wife.The copper-headed woman was clearly disgruntled, and by the way she was shooting daggers at the man who escorted her, it wasn't too difficult to discern who it was aimed at.

"I don't need your pity, James." Victoria Webb hissed. When he had showed up unwarranted at her cabin, she had suspected something was amiss. The two hadn't spoken in nearly seven years, and that was far too short a time for her liking. If she had been given a choice, Victoria would have buried him along with the sordid moment in her past he was associated with. He had made it very clear that he wanted nothing to do with her when he announced his engagement to everyone, including the papers, before even speaking to her. That slap to the face still smarted.

"Don't be silly, Victoria. It's been a long time," he replied coolly, leading her towards one of the long tables that would soon be filled with others. He wouldn't be sitting with her, of course. Few remembered the details of what lay between them, but that number was enough. No one needed a scandal. James was far too anal-retentive to allow that.

"I'm not being _silly._ You think after everything, after so _long_, you can just show up like nothing has happened? You're married, James." It took an incredible amount of resolve to keep her voice level. They were alone, for now, save a few men who were preparing the platform the orchestra would soon be playing on. Even if he made her feel silly, which she was actually beginning to agree with, she wasn't going to lose face in front of anyone. Not even a few Irishmen. Victoria knew she didn't still have feelings for him, but the experience of having such passions brutally used and then not returned had left a bad taste in her mouth. She was still bitter and grudges like hers never died.

"I know I am, Victoria. The past is in the past. I'm married," he paused, just long enough to judge her reaction. Her lips pursed, but she remained calm—barely. "I'm married and I've made the unfortunate discovery that my wife has been less than faithful."

Her cackle was sharp and unsympathetic. Pale, meek little Esme Platt had slept with someone other than him? Good. _Good._ James deserved knowing the stab of betrayal. "Oh, really? I'm supposed to care? Please, explain to me how this is my problem."

James' mouth hardened into a tight line as he helped her into a seat. Victoria relished in it. For once, it felt incredibly nice to have the power. Everyone took her for granted, but she wasn't about to lose anymore. Victoria's sharp features and prickly disposition had fascinated him at one time, and the knowledge of that was more than enough. She brought out the absolute worst in him. All this she knew and it made the pleasure of watching him writhe even better.

Placing a hand on the back of her chair, he leaned in just close enough to whisper softly in her ear, his lips lingering on her baubled earlobe. Her shudder revealed weakness, and even though she couldn't see his face, she knew he was smiling. That moment of vulnerability would cost her. "Because, Victoria, I know you still want me."

Color rose in her angular cheeks, and it took all of her self-control to contain the inappropriate words she longed to heave at him. Victoria silently cursed herself for urges she struggled to control. At one time, she would have given half her fortune to know what it felt like to have him between her thighs. Things were different now. Someone needed to inform her body to catch up to the present—the line she toed was dangerous. He had burned her once, and a man like James wasn't to be trusted, ever. Besides, she was being courted by an honorable, decent man she had a real future with. Jasper Whitlock was the type of man she wanted. And she _did_ want him…

Damn James Evenson. Damn him to hell.

"Your assumptions are pathetic," Victoria spat a few moments afterwards before reaching for her champagne. Her fingers didn't make it to the glass in time, and soon they were caught in his own firm grasp. Her eyes watched, mesmerized, as he tangled his fingers with hers. The implication was clear. James knew exactly what she wanted, even now, despite everything. Her eyes darted once at a waiter who was busying himself with one of the fountains. He wasn't watching, but…

"I'll divorce her, Victoria."

The words rang in her ears, leaving her disoriented and confused. Divorce? The scandal would be incredible. But to be Victoria Evenson…to know what it really felt like to have him as a lover, a confidant, something more than just the fickle friend he had become.

Her mouth had gone dry. She needed Jasper. Only he could bring her to her senses.

"Help me and I'll make you my wife."

§

Isabella Swan had felt nauseated long before sundown. Jacob sat at her side, laughing loudly at one of the jokes her mother had made. It wasn't funny. That he was going out of his way to please everyone, such as trying more than necessary to impress Renee, made Bella even more aware of her situation. He was really going to propose to her—tonight. She was going to have to say yes.

Her palms felt clammy against the thin silk of her gloves, and the food that had been placed in front of her at the beginning of the evening still remained untouched. Jacob had been incredibly attentive to her needs, even going so far as to personally ask the head chef to make her another meal. She wished she could calm her nerves, but even his voice made her feel ill. Bella felt incredibly guilty, and she knew it wasn't him that made her feel so terrible. Everything was moving too fast and not in the direction she wanted it.

This was her life. Her mother descended from a long line of women who had put aside their personal desires to marry and live vicariously through their husbands and children. Isabella just wanted much, much more than that.

A change in tempo marked the beginning of the ballroom dances, and she felt Jacob rise from his seat. For a moment her heart stopped still, refusing to beat until it knew for sure what he was planning to do. Was this the moment? Was now the time to give in—to make everyone else but herself sublimely happy? She wasn't ready to become a bride. Her eyes, wide and pleading, dragged towards the man at her side. Jacob Black flashed a knowing grin before extending his hand towards her mother.

Her prayers had been answered. The two chattered gaily as he escorted Renee to the dance floor and joined several other couples, taking their stances for a lively gavotte. Her unease still remained, even if she was saved for now. Soon he would get her alone and she would have to give him an answer.

"Excuse me," a smooth voice spoke from over her shoulder. "Would you care to dance?"

Bella turned to meet a set of impressive green eyes belonging to the man whom she had seen escort Rosalie earlier that afternoon, the one who had witnessed her embarrassing display of behavior. She felt entirely too warm as she slid her hand into his and rose from her seat. They walked in silence to the dance floor to catch the tail end of a waltz. When his hand met the side of her waist, she swore she could feel a penetrating jolt through her clothing. Perhaps she really was going crazy.

"I suppose I should formerly introduce myself. My name is Edward Masen," he offered, his voice just audible above the music. It felt entirely too intimate for a first acquaintance. Still, she wasn't leaving. She knew who he was, but it wasn't polite to say so.

"A pleasure, Mr. Masen. I am Isabella Swan," she delivered mechanically and with a forced smile. It was too hot in the ballroom, and the spinning of their twirls didn't help. They danced like that in silence for several minutes, both untalented at small talk. Bella stole a glance up at his face, which wore a tired, confused expression. When the song ended, both were relieved to part ways.

"Thank you for the dance," she spoke distractedly, glancing almost frantically around the room for Jacob and her mother. She didn't see them.

"Of course, it was my pleasure." Isabella didn't see his attempt to search her eyes. She was too busy focusing on her soon to be fiancé and Renee Swan, whom she had spotted in a corner, pointing in her direction with a too-wide grin.

Bella's eyes grew in size and her heart began to beat at such a breakneck pace that she could almost hear it thud against her ribcage. Before she realized what she was doing and what implications could be made, she snatched Edward Masen by the wrist and tugged him along with her towards the exit.

"I…I need some air. Come with me…"

He was her only hope. If she could make it through the night, perhaps she wouldn't have to do anything at all. Or, at the very least, she could delay the inevitable for another hour.

§

Edward Masen was surprised by Miss Swan's unexpected change of heart. She had been nothing like what he had imagined—a breath of fresh air, someone to shed light on his predicament. Instead she had been stiff, cold and distracted. He had wanted more than that.

He was proved wrong when she took him by the sleeve and led him out onto the poop deck at a near sprint. She was breathless when they reached the railing, and he was utterly bewildered. What a pair they made.

Edward said nothing when she began to pace back and forth, her hands tightening and unclenching repetitively. Something had distressed the woman, enough to send her into a state in front of him…once again. Perhaps he could have associated it with poor finishing or undiagnosed mental illness. He had heard of such things during his time at school, of course, though he hadn't seen it in action. For a madwoman, she didn't seem too frightening or dangerous. In fact, he thought she was strangely captivating.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, _so_ sorry, I…I just needed to get away for a moment," she spoke between shallow gasps, finally turning to meet his eyes. Her own were dark and cryptic. Edward wasn't quite sure why he found them so damn interesting.

"Don't apologize," he spoke quickly in response. She was surprised by his immediate forgiveness, or perhaps the beginnings of understanding that passed between them. Frankly, he didn't seem to care all that much anymore. He had the incredible urge to touch her hair. It was sickening.

She made her way to the ledge and peered down through one of the peepholes, the sea as inky as the starless sky. Her fingers curled along the rim as she stared, momentarily serene, a vision against the darkness she contrasted against. Edward couldn't exactly remember a time where he wanted anything more than he did at that moment. The worst of it was he couldn't pinpoint what it was. Tugging his fingers through now-tousled hair, he took a step back to control himself. He needed…Tanya. Tanya could talk sense into him.

"Do you think I'm crazy?" she asked softly, the damask quality of her heart-shaped face catching in the moonlight. Edward wasn't sure how to respond. Perhaps she was dangerous, just not in a way he had expected.

"No. I don't know what you are," he replied honestly. It made her laugh, a soft and unhappy noise that resonated in the corridor even after she had finished. Even the ocean couldn't swallow the bitterness in it.

"Neither do I," she concluded moments later. Isabella Swan returned her eyes back to the water, which still yearned to take her within their depths. "Are you terrified of marriage?" The question was unexpected, but not surprising. He had been right in thinking that they shared a common misfortune.

Edward knew that he shouldn't oblige in answering, but he did. He hoped he wouldn't regret it later. "Immeasurably." Her expression didn't change, so he continued. She was opening up, and it was just enough to anchor him to where he stood. "You aren't betrothed…are you?" He had spent the past several years abroad, and up until that day, he had never met her before. Edward didn't want her to be engaged. He couldn't imagine anyone possessing her. She was too…free.

"Not yet. An affliction that will soon be cured."

He stepped forward, unable to will himself to stop. When his fingers brushed against her elbow, she paused to regard him with guarded eyes. He watched her hesitance in being touched, but she didn't pull away. That was enough. He had planned on saying something profound, but now facing her expectant face, he couldn't come up with anything intelligent at all. Oxford had been a waste. "I'm sorry."

She watched him then, as if really seeing him for the first time. "Rosalie. You don't love her." It wasn't a question. How could she see through him as if he was transparent, and he was left only confused in her presence? She was stunned by the revelation, even if she had discovered it herself. Most would be shocked to know the truth. He and his fiancée were perfect for one another, a match that made sense. Or so he was told.

"Is it that obvious?" he asked, wanting to laugh but not finding the humor in it. There was nothing funny about wasting his life in a marriage with the vainest woman he had ever met.

"You two seem so happy together," Isabella commented more to herself than him. He didn't understand how anyone could assume such, unless he had underestimated his abilities at feigning affection and civility towards Rosalie.

"We're not. I'm…not." Edward needed to keep his mouth shut. She was a stranger, albeit a lovely one, with no business in knowing his feelings. There was nothing good that could come to opening up. Still, he didn't apologize and he didn't stop. It felt too good to let those bottled emotions escape.

"Neither am I," she finally stated, no longer skirting the issue. There it was. She was going to marry someone and she was just as horrified as he. A kindred spirit found in the strangest of places.

"I know. I saw…today, that is." He watched as a flush crept up her throat. The same pale skin that had been grasped at so frantically that afternoon. "You…well. If you're that afraid…" Edward had wanted to tell her to make her own choice, marry who she wanted, but the notion was silly as well as hypocritical on his part.

"You don't understand," she responded to his unfinished thought.

Edward thought he did. Wasn't it the same as with Rosalie? The choice was hers. "If you don't love him, don't wed him. It's simple. If you haven't given him an answer…"

"I do love him!" she cut in, the color of embarrassment darkening with anger. Edward, though stunned, imagined her irritability stemmed from his forthright opinion. "Do not assume that you know me, Mr. Masen. You do not." She tugged her arm out of his grasp before watching him with stunned, unsettled eyes.

"I meant no disrespect," he attempted to smooth things over. "It isn't too late. That's all I meant, of course." He wasn't quite sure why her reaction to his suggestion was so abrupt.

"What you said and what you meant are two entirely different things. Your presumptions are insulting," she fired. Ahh, there it was. The sense of decency engrained in women of their class. Edward was immediately disappointed. He grew tired of the games that everyone, she included, had a habit of playing.

"I'm not _presuming_ anything. You said yourself that you aren't happy. Do something about it. If you have a choice, make the right one." If he could have done it over again, Edward knew he would have made a better decision—a different selection, a different girl. He wasn't sure what had made him add the edge in his voice, but it was there. She noticed.

"You are no gentleman," she muttered, frowning. For a moment she seemed almost disappointed. No, perhaps he wasn't. Edward could own up to that. He had been, at one time, but a true gentleman didn't pretend to love a woman when she deserved better. A real gentleman didn't sleep with another man's wife in an attempt to ease his own pain.

"You are no lady, either. Did you bring me out here to escape being with him? Are you a coward, too?" The irrational anger shook him unexpectedly, but it had been too late to take back the words he had thrown recklessly. He wasn't used to a woman challenging him, forcing him to take a long look at what he had become. Edward felt disgusted with himself. It wasn't her fault, of course, but it was too late to tell her that.

"I am _not_ a coward."

Edward wanted her to prove it. He wanted to grab her by the shoulders, which were now set so stubbornly, and shake, or…or kiss her until she softened back into the woman who had looked so longingly at the sea only minutes before. The temptation she presented tantalized his senses until he felt lightheaded. He wanted to infuriate her and protect her and make her smile. Once he had established just how far his need had been rooted, he was out of sorts and winded

She saw the fire in his eyes, the desire for something he couldn't express. He watched the dawning realization, and the hardening of her reserve. She didn't think he'd act on it, and she was right. He was a gentleman, at least in some respects. It was good to know that some of his fine breeding was still in tact. She took a step closer, meeting his eyes, before speaking directly once again.

"I'm not a coward, Edward Cullen. _You_ are."

Edward let her sweep away and push back through the double doors into the ballroom. He didn't stop her. He should have, but he didn't. He waited, vainly hoping that she would return. Seconds became minutes. Minutes became an hour. Just as it chimed ten o'clock, he overheard the enthusiastic swell of cheers as Isabella Marie Swan accepted the hand of a man she didn't really want.

§

Katrina McKinley watched in bored amusement from her seat at the grand table as Jacob Black made a scene of presenting a hilariously outlandish engagement ring to his new fiancée, Bella Swan. She stifled a laugh behind her hand. Rumor had it that he had spent over a thousand dollars on the diamond, which Kate thought would only make Bella even clumsier. She remembered the accident-prone girl from their youth. Even if she was finished now, a leopard couldn't change its spots.

"Garish thing, isn't it?" Emmett McCarty snorted, equally amused by the grotesque display of public affection. Kate had to agree, even if she wanted to wear something equally as ridiculous someday. A distant someday, of course. Kate would rather die than admit it, however.

"I suppose so. I've seen tackier," she sniffed, already becoming bored with the entire ordeal. She was much more interested by the man sitting at her side. Kate was ready for what was to come _after_ the dancing ended. It would be too obvious if they both left together early in the festivities, but it really had been awhile since she had gotten properly bedded.

"Be honest. You're green with envy," he teased with a broad, merciless grin. Kate rolled her eyes before resting her chin in hand. Although she really wasn't interested in marriage, occasionally female sentiments wormed their way into her thoughts and made her secretly wish for a townhouse, a passel of brats, and a husband to sleep with on a regular basis.

Was it so wrong that she pictured Emmett as the man to give it all to her? Perhaps not wrong, but embarrassing.

She was blushing. He didn't see it, but it was there. "So what if I am? When are you going to pop the question, hm?" she prodded with a tiny smile. Kate realized, even as it left her lips, that perhaps it wasn't wise to tease about something so horrific. Even though Emmett was a good sport, marriage was something that scared everyone with half a brain. It was delivered more seriously than she had meant it, but she didn't bother retracting the question. They could have fun, being married to one another. Travelling to exotic places, drinking until they were pissed, raising children to be a garrulous as they—Kate longed for it. She wasn't sure if she could say she was in love with Emmett, but he was the same as she. A wandering soul in search of a home. Perhaps it was the lack of laughter in her eyes that caused him to respond without amusement.

It was a long time before he finally answered, and his tone was unreadable. "I'm not getting married, you know." He tried to pass it off nonchalantly, but somehow their jokes had fallen flat. They were talking about it without actually acknowledging it.

Kate made the quick decision to force his laughter rather than continue the discussion. "Oh, you know you'd love it. Me, rubbing your feet and serving you brandy at your every beck and call." She attempted to lighten the mood, her smile returning a bit unsurely. It worked. His grin returned—the image was too priceless. Kate would never be subservient to anyone, and they knew it.

"I can picture it already," he chuckled amiably before throwing an arm over the back of her chair. Kate knew that someday he'd see the sense in it. He needed someone to carry on his name, and she needed to _not_ die as a spinster. It was perfect.

"Are you going to ask me to dance yet?" she leaned into his body with a playful pout. Kate could play the tease, of course, and even though they both knew he was going to get lucky later on in the evening, she enjoyed making him work for it.

"Yeah, yeah," he smirked before rising from his seat. The dance was a Jenny Lind, and although it meant she wouldn't remain in his arms the entire mixer, Kate hoped that seeing her in another man's arm would bring out the jealous brute she knew lurked inside him.

§

Emmett was thankful for the break in partners. As much as he adored saucy Kate McKinley, he couldn't see himself marrying her, or anyone for that matter. Their conversation had made him antsy. Didn't she feel the same way he did, that the constraints of aristocratic society were an unnecessary bore? He didn't want a wife, and children terrified him. It wasn't fair to have a family when he'd be no good to them at all. He doubted anyone could be happy with his philandering.

His second partner was a plain redhead that he had recalled seeing aboard already. Emmett wasn't well-versed on society gossip, but he recalled her being somewhat well-regarded. Still, by her puckered mouth and quickly darting eyes, he was all too happy to change ladies.

The next had a habit of stepping on his feet, and her heels were pointed enough that Emmett was sure he'd have a nasty bruise in the morning. She twirled away and another was replaced in his arms, then another—a never-ending supply of women to make him bored and dizzy. He was already counting the minutes til he could escape and find some real entertainment in Miss McKinley's cabin.

Emmett was pulled back into the present by another exchange of partners, and this time he didn't feel the need to drift off. The blonde was laughing breathlessly, her face glowing from exertions on the dance floor. He didn't know what was so funny, but he found himself smiling regardless.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" she trilled with another giggle. "I'm not laughing at _you_, of course." Emmett hadn't thought she was, but he did note that she didn't apologize for the supposed misconception, either.

"No worries. I wasn't paying attention," he answered honestly. The woman was incredibly light on her feet, which made his work easier as they danced. He wasn't born into this sort of pastime as every other aristocratic man had been.

"Really? I didn't notice," she responded with a wry smile. "You seemed nearly catatonic." Emmett noticed that, even when she wasn't grinning like an idiot, she was…exceptionally pretty. Almost frighteningly so. No one should be born that beautiful.

"Ah, well. We can't all consistently have such charming partners as yourself." She seemed please by his response. Emmett knew how to worm his way into the hearts of the upper class women. A smug smile followed his compliment.

"I'm impressed! Here I thought you were nothing more than a brute with a bad reputation," she commented with a deliciously wicked grin. Emmett opened his mouth, his lips beginning to form the words of a clever retort, but he found himself lost instead. For a moment, he grasped desperately for an excuse, any excuse to explain just why he was staring into her entrancing eyes. He could drown in those crystalline blue irises, and for a moment, he couldn't feel himself breathing any longer.

His gaze was intense, that he knew. Her smile slowly faded away, all pretense of joke disappearing until they were just two people, forgetting the steps to a dance they had memorized long ago, greedily drinking in each other's faces.

Someone, perhaps the man who was meant to claim her dance next, pulled the bewildered young woman away from Emmett and into their own arms. Emmett was only vaguely aware that he was planted firmly in the middle of the dance floor, lungs burning feverishly for air.

What the hell had just happened?

§

Tanya's hands gripped the edge of the sheets as she pressed them against her bare body. There was only silence now. Edward was tense as he lay next to her, and despite wanting to reach out and touch him, she knew it wasn't the wisest course of action.

They were both miserable, and not even the simple act of being with one another could alleviate it any longer.

Exhaling softly before allowed her eyes to close tight, she finally whispered into the deafening calm, the only thing she dared to disturb.

"Who is Isabella?"

* * *

Hey everyone, I want to apologize for taking forever to post this chapter. I actually had most of it done two weeks ago, but I caught strep throat and I STILL have it. I'm not sure if I'm happy with this story anymore, so please feel free to give me whatever constructive criticism you like. I love to hear from all of you.

Thanks for reading!


	5. All or Nothing

**Chapter 4**

All or Nothing

_March 13, 1899_

_

* * *

  
_

Eleazar McKinley didn't make a habit of attending social functions. The same energies others thrived on wore himdown, so he never made the effort to go anywhere. No one seemed capable of understanding. Although his sisters had tried for some time to pull him out of the shell he hid in, no matter of persuasion seemed to be enough. He was just incapable of normal social interaction. If it weren't for the fact that he remained the sole heir of his family line, Caius Lester McKinley would have thrust his only son out of the public eye long ago. This was common knowledge in the world they lived in, though the gossip surrounding the affair had run out of steam some time back. Eleazar's queer behavior was no longer a source of amusement to the circles his family ran with, and had only become a perplexing enigma. It was with mild surprise that onlookers spotted him venture outside of his cabin for the first time during the voyage, romantic literature clutched tightly to his chest.

Eleazar's lanky frame stood taller than most men his age, light hair a beacon above the heads he towered over. Although porcelain skin was a fashionable indicator of wealth, his flesh was so pale that he appeared sickly, possibly even consumptive. The sight of him turned stomachs of the few young ladies whose mothers hadn't yet ruled him out as an unacceptable bachelor. He wasn't bad looking, despite it all. However, how could any proper woman wish to marry a sickly recluse? It was one reason among many that he was still unmarried.

He pushed his way down the deck, past chaise lounges and men taking their cigars. Eyes followed him suspiciously, but no action was taken to stop his venture across the ship. Only one pair of eyes followed him without a trace of scrutiny, amusement instead coloring her petite features in comparison. She flitted to his side without an ounce of hesitation.

"Where are you going?" she trilled, matching his stride even though it made her skirts billow up unattractively. Eleazar spared the shameless young woman only a glance. Although he didn't keep up with gossip, he had heard enough from his sisters. Mary Alice was saucy and not at all afraid to speak her mind, but this didn't faze him. It was the fact that made it her mission in life to annoy him that caused all the trouble. The peril he had put their friendship in was now a constant source of frustration.

"Not now, Alice. I'm busy," he muttered, quickening his pace. She followed at his side, smiling broadly at the use of her nickname. With more strength than a proper woman should have, she strung her arm through his and tugged him back, successfully leashing him to her as if he were her spaniel.

"You? Busy? Don't make me laugh." Normally he was charmed by that impish grin, but today was different. There were far more important matters at hand, more so than minor temptations to bask in the wild girl's presence.

"I need to find my sister's husband. It's urgent." Squirming out of her grip, Eleazar paused long enough to adjust the lapels of his jacket before lodging a complaint. "Alice, you know I have no time to play with you. Aren't there other hearts for you to sink your teeth into today?"

It sounded like someone had punched all the air right out of Alice's lungs. Sure, the two enjoyed each other's company and were known to exchange wits with each other on occasion, but she hadn't expected him to be so flippant with his feelings. It was only a month prior that she had caught wind of his attraction to her. Why did boys, particularly friend-boys, have to go about ruining perfectly good relationships with emotions? Wasn't that what girls were supposed to do?

As much as she adored Eleazar, Alice couldn't feel the same way about him. For all his goodness followed the drudgery of a stable life, a life indoors, devoid of spontaneity and exploration. She didn't think she could stand a life of being married, let alone with someone she could expect the same things from every day for the rest of her life.

"That's not fair, Elly. That's not fair at all." Despite her best attempts to put on a brave face, the tips of her mouth tipped downwards as she felt a cold wash of guilt stun her into feeling. In fact, she was fairly sure she was pouting. His expression matched hers instantly, mirroring a helpless case of sadness with no visible cure. As much as she couldn't love him for their differences, it was only her polar opposite that could bring him to life.

"You've always had mine."

They stood in silence for some time, neither one sure what to say to the other. Alice stared at her hands, uncovered despite the sunlight. Eleazar did the same. Surprisingly, they both wanted the same thing. To remain friends, even if all else failed. The pallid scholar and the aimless waif were far more in need of each other than they would realize.

"I'll help you find him. Carlisle. I'll tell him you needed to see him." Her chest rose as she sucked in a deep breath and moved past him. Now was not the time for this conversation. Though sooner or later, it was bound to be had.

* * *

Short chapter, I know. I decided to go ahead and put this up now because I promised to. I'm a bit stuck and I need to go reread my notes on where this was all going. I'll be starting on the next chapter, which will be much longer, tonight.


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